Chapter 139
Although we don't have to work under the scorching sun, we can't really be lazy.
He is not a lazy person.
Cynthia carried a bucket of water and had Little Dickin on her back.
He used a traditional baby carrier that required multiple straps, which passed through the chest and waist, causing these areas to bulge out.
He stood on tiptoe, working diligently, carefully wiping from one end of the corridor to the other, not missing a single corner. Some places he had to squat down to reach, so he repeatedly squatted down and stood up to elevate himself, with a child on his back.
Cynthia was covered in sweat; he was hot and his back ached.
But he didn't dare put Dicky down. Dicky could already walk, but the stairs to the second floor were very high, and he was worried about it.
But after being cooped up for too long, Dicky felt uncomfortable being suffocated on his back. He reached out and called for his father, pouting as if he was about to cry.
Cynthia tried to coax him, but Dickin was clearly very uncomfortable and wouldn't listen to anything she did.
"Cynthia, could you take this to the kitchen for me? I need it right away!"
A maid brought over a tall stack of silverware and hurriedly stuffed it into his hands. Cynthia said, "But the corridor isn't finished being wiped yet."
The maid, lifting her skirt, said, "It's no big deal. You can wipe it when you get back. Just take it over for me first!"
Cynthia had no choice but to put down the rag. He was so flustered by Dickin that he didn't have time to soothe the child and was forced to carry a pile of silver plates to the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, he was even busier. The cook stopped him and said, "You have the least work. Hurry up and help me prepare some fish. Don't waste time, the lady needs it for lunch!"
The kitchen was filled with the aroma of food and was bustling with people.
Cynthia was dizzy and disoriented, squeezed into a corner, where she squatted down and killed more than ten fish. Dickin had already cried once and was so hungry that he fell asleep.
Cynthia went to ask the cook for some bread. The cook looked up from a pile of mushy jam and angrily yelled, "Haven't you eaten bread in your eight lifetimes?! What kind of time is this? Take you and your lazy brat and get out of here!"
"Madam hasn't eaten yet, why are you eating bread!"
"Get out of the way, get out of the way."
Cynthia was ushered out of the kitchen from the corner, but as soon as he went out, the steamed barley bread came out of the oven, and most of the servants who came and went took one to fill their stomachs.
"Look at his shameless behavior."
"His breasts were practically falling off. The stable people said he was a born slut, and they were absolutely right."
"Don't say that. Everyone knows he was once the one our master loved."
"You must have been deceived. What good stuff could come from the countryside? Don't you know that Omegas in the countryside don't even have markings, let alone the concept of chastity?"
"You scoundrel!"
"This kind of O is like a rotten orange, lazy and good-for-nothing. Just watch, sooner or later he'll go and seduce the Alphas in the manor, and the reputation of Keaton Manor will be ruined by him!"
Diding was awakened by the aroma, stared at it longingly for a while, and then whispered "Daddy."
Cynthia put Dickin down, wiped her eyes to hide her sadness from the child, kicked the basket of unfinished fish away, touched Dickin's face, and kissed him with a smile: "Daddy will take you to eat something delicious."
Dickin reached out his little hands and hugged Cynthia's neck.
Cynthia washed her hands, then slipped into the kitchen, emerging with a straight posture and light steps. He seemed oblivious to the foul language, carrying Dickin back to the second-floor hallway, where he pulled two carrots and a small piece of bread from under his uniform.
Diding, oh dear, was hugging a carrot, his face covered in drool, without even breaking the skin.
Cynthia couldn't help but laugh out loud and handed him the bread. Dickin held the bread and ate it in small bites.
“Dad, look,” Dickin said, biting his lip.
Cynthia exaggeratedly covered her face: "What should I do? You're too amazing!"
Dickin nestled in Cynthia's arms, looking quite embarrassed. Cynthia played with him for a while, and he quickly finished a carrot. Halfway through chewing, he suddenly heard the sound of a piano.
The tinkling sound flowed like spring water, but slowly it turned melancholic and sorrowful.
Cynthia made a shushing gesture, picked up Dickin, and went up the stairs to the third floor. He leaned against the top of the stairs, and Dickin slid off him, hugged his father's leg, and they listened quietly together.
Cynthia had never heard a live performance before and had almost no knowledge of music appreciation, but the feeling was more shocking than hearing it a thousand times from others.
When the piano keys resonate and the music flows, it's as if the world has been encased in a transparent glass dome, isolating the listening audience from the outside world.
All I could hear was the music.
Cynthia looked at the wall and couldn't help but walk closer. As he got closer, he saw a half-open door.
The light inside the door was as soft as moonlight. A tall and beautiful figure sat between the light and the shadows, her long, seaweed-like hair cascading down her back, and her slender hands seemed to be butterflies flitting across black and white piano keys.
Each note flowed from his hands, so oppressive and sorrowful.
Cynthia was so engrossed in the music that she was oblivious to everything else.
Until a warm tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped his face and realized that he didn't know when his face was covered in tears.
The piano music had stopped. The pianist noticed this unexpected guest, sat down at the piano, and quietly watched him.
Cynthia quickly picked up Dickin, wiping his eyes as she apologized, "I'm sorry, madam, I... I'll be right there."
"come over."
Cynthia paused, then turned around hesitantly.
The room was covered with a thick, long wool carpet that felt soft and fluffy underfoot. The decorations around the room had been changed, with many things that Omegas would like.
Cynthia smelled a rose scent, just like the lady's, a scent that would make one blush and their heart race.
But there was a hint of wine in the rose scent. He moved closer and saw an empty wine glass on the piano, with scattered white rose petals around it. The Omega, dressed in a long dress, rested her forehead on her hand, her eyes shimmering, breathtakingly beautiful, like a seductive siren.
"lady."
"Kneel down."
Cynthia was taken aback, but obediently knelt at the Omega's feet.
"Shameless."
With fingertips scented with roses, Cynthia's chin was lifted. Cynthia's breath caught in her throat as she stared blankly at that beautiful yet cold face.
He called out to the Omega softly, "Madam."
The lady did not dress up.
The pale lip color, besides making one look tired, is even more enticing, making one want to savor it lightly and transform it into a captivating hue.
The male Omega was tall and slender, his beauty and aloofness blending together perfectly. Cynthia felt like crying again, but this time she didn't know why.
"What were you trying to do just now?" The Omega's breath was fragrant, a mixture of strong liquor and rose scents that made Cynthia blush instantly. He subconsciously grasped the fingertips that were lifting his chin and touched the hard rose ring.
The lady raised an eyebrow, surprised by his audacity. Before those beautifully shaped, thin lips could utter sharp words, Cynthia trembled and gently kissed the fingertips that were kissing him.
"Madam, please don't be sad."
He was almost intuitive, purely straightforward.
Michael stared at him in surprise, forgetting to retract his hand.
Glug~
A loud cooing sound.
Michael looked at the child hiding in the corner and the Omega kneeling in front of him, so ashamed and helpless that he was about to cry. He withdrew his hand, stood up, and snorted with some dissatisfaction: "Is Keaton Manor lacking you for food and drink?"
Cynthia awkwardly clutched her stomach and whispered, "I knew carrots wouldn't keep me full."
Michael: "What did you say?"
Cynthia quickly shook her head. She pulled on her apron, picked up Dickin, glanced at Michael, and knelt back on the carpet. She said cautiously, "No, it's just that I've been helping everyone, so I haven't had a chance to eat yet."
Michael glanced at him and frowned. He rarely paid attention to what his servants did or knew their specific schedules, but the arrangements for Omega reproductive benefits had already been made.
Michael asked, "What kind of work did you do? You were so tired that you didn't have time to eat?"
Cynthia looked up at him and said, "It's not a big job, just some cleaning and sweeping."
Michael raised an eyebrow. Cynthia seemed a little conflicted and whispered, "But other people also ask me for help."
He didn't look at the lady's expression, but he clearly heard a loud sneer. The fragrant skirt swept past his eyes and then returned like an elegant elf.
A plate of fruit was placed in front of him.
The lady's nails were painted black, and her round nails were somewhat endearingly different from her usual appearance.
His tone was indifferent, his expression disdainful, like the cat Cynthia had once owned, which had thrown a mouse in front of him and arrogantly provided for its master who couldn't hunt.
"Go out."
Cynthia hugged Dickin, nodded, and whispered, "Thank you, Madam."
Michael was now somewhat confused about what this strange O was thinking. He threw away the roses in the vase and casually stomped on them: "Why are you always blushing?"
Cynthia paused, then covered Dickin's ears with her hand before answering, her face flushed and her voice clear: "Madam, you... are so beautiful, so very beautiful, I can't help myself."
Di Ding made two "ah ah" sounds, holding an apple, wondering why his father was covering his ears.
Michael paused, his expression strange, as if he were angry but not furious. He snorted, put his hands behind his back, and said to Cynthia, "Get out."
Cynthia touched her burning cheeks. Sigh, he was telling the truth.
As he carried Diding out of the room, Cynthia's heart was still pounding. He held Diding close, kissed his little face, and prepared to take him back to sleep.
When I returned to the kitchen, the cook stormed out, her face contorted with rage: "Cynthia! Where's the fish I told you to prepare?!"
Cynthia exclaimed, "Oh, I forgot."
The cook started cursing, and Cynthia listened quietly. When she finished cursing, she kicked the basket of fish away, and one of the fish splattered across the cook's face.
Cook: "Ahhh!"
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